


Hayloft

by AchtJaibo



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Cannibalism, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:54:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22702786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AchtJaibo/pseuds/AchtJaibo
Summary: Alastor tells the story of the first time he ever watched someone get killed in front of him. While his upbringing left him no stranger to murder and cannibalism, the first time seeing a person die affected him differently than he had originally predicted.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39





	Hayloft

**Author's Note:**

> This was just an idea brewing in my head after listening to Mother Mother's Hayloft one too many times so I had to get down on paper. I haven't written fanfiction in a hot minute so please keep critiques gentle! I've also never been to Louisiana and I wasn't alive in 1911 so don't come for me if something isn't quite correct in either of those regards. This is my apology in advance. Please enjoy!

Killing had always been a part of the family business and I grew up knowing it wasn't ethical, but it's what we did. Death and murder were just a regular part of my growing up, but I distinctly remember the night I witnessed someone die for the first time.

When I was young, we lived on what could be considered a little farm in New Orleans. It was remote enough, but close enough to a bayou where we could could take part in business and discard body parts as safely as possible. My mother had inherited the property shortly before her and my father got married after her father passed away. After all, she was an only child and her mother had died when she was just a little girl.

My mother never talked much about her parents and I never felt the need to ask her about them. It's always been a mystery to me whether the family business had been started by my parents or my grandparents because of the location and resources around the farmhouse. Either way, my grandparents' early deaths seemed like a stroke of good luck for her new family and the business.

Even before I was actively taking part in murder, I knew what happened around the farm. I grew up meeting a lot of people in the Italian Mafia who would either ask my parents to assist in killing folks or who just needed us to dispose of the bodies in the bayou. However, I also knew my parents were no strangers to hunting for sport though. Both deer and other people. We made the most of the bodies every time in any situation, but I digress.

My father had been the hunter in the family and had taken me out deer hunting plenty of times before. I had seen things die, but it's different when it's a human. Or two. Pleading for mercy.

\--

I remember it being a hot July night in 1911 when my father jostled me awake, telling me to put on my foots and follow him. I didn't hesitate or ask any questions, putting on my glasses and doing just as he had told me. Apparently, my mother had been woken up by some sounds she heard coming from our barn and she ordered my father to grab his gun and check it out. My father had insisted on taking me along that night since I was becoming a man and needed to know how to defend my homestead. I also knew that it was to learn how I'd protect my protect my mother if anything were to happen to my father. I'd do anything for Mama.

We met downstairs and both put our boots on, my father only wearing his long johns, and myself in my nightshirt, as we quietly opened up the back door to creep out. Once we were outside, I could clearly hear noises coming from the hayloft in our barn. I'm sure I knew I wasn't nervous, but rather excited because my father was there with his shotgun. I knew in my gut that I was about to see someone die and that made this fun. I didn't even stop to think that it would be my first time seeing another person actually die and how that may affect me for the rest of my life.

Crossing the yard to the barn seemed to take forever, but as we approached, the sounds became clearer and I began to make out that it sounded like a boy and a girl. Probably not much older than myself. My father had tried to open the barn as quietly as he could, but those doors were big and old and opening them was _always_ noisy. We then heard the two people begin to rustle around, probably rushing to try and leave. Too bad they were already caught in our trap.

My father rushed in and motioned for me to climb up into the loft first, not wanting to let the kids know he was there quite yet. I ran past him and climbed up the ladder as quickly as I could. When I reached a point where I could finally see them and make them out, I realized I had been right about it being a boy and a girl. They were partially undressed and even though they could tell that they had been caught, they kept scrambling to get their clothes back on and adjusted, nonetheless. The boy looked at me first and I saw immediate relief in his eyes when he could make out that I was just a boy, younger than him even. This is _exactly_ why my father sent me up first.

“Oh, it’s just a kid,” the boy said through a relaxed sigh. “Hey, we’re real sorry about all this. We were just taking a walk by the bayou and had the, uh…urge, ya know?”

No, not really. Regardless, I let him continue to make his case.

He went on, “We didn’t know anyone lived out this way, but when we saw your barn we thought we could make it in and out quick without bothering y’all. And we can leave now, of course! Can I just ask that you _please_ don’t tell you parents?” He pressed his hands together as if in prayer.

I kept a calm expression and I climbed up the rest of the ladder into the hayloft, stepping up then to the side as I watched them both continue to compose themselves. I knew my father would be up after me, but I figured I’d stall for some fun. Besides, I needed to keep their guard down.

“What were you doing walking around so late?” I asked, sounding innocently enough.

The girl combed her hair back with her fingers after buttoning the rest of her dress up and replied, “Our parents don’t approve of us being together and sneaking out late at night is the only way we can still see each other.”

Ah, they were teenaged lovers and no one knew they weren’t at home in bed. Perfect. Hearing this was my father’s cue to climb up the ladder, letting me step further side before aiming his rifle at them.

Suddenly, the two were both panicked and trying to reason with us, the girl beginning to cry as her lover begged us for mercy until he was blue in the face. This didn’t faze my father one bit as he cocked his gun, their cries now getting louder turning into scream for help. Except this was a _very_ remote area and no one would be able to hear them. Which meant that no one heard the two shots my father fired either. He shot the boy in the face, then the girl before she could barely muster another cry. It all seemed to happen in an instant and then it was over.

My father lowered his gun and began climbing down the ladder, telling me to move the bodies so he could get them down the ladder. This was Louisiana in July. We didn’t have the luxury of being able to wait until the morning to take care of this, but I found myself completely paralyzed.

I couldn’t take my eyes off them. My ears were ringing and my feet felt as if they had been glued down to the floorboards. Seeing a deer die and be dead was _a lot_ different than seeing another human die and be dead.

“Alastor!”

Hearing my father scold me was what finally snapped my body out of it long enough for my feet to move themselves, approaching the bodies. I moved purely on instinct, feeling caught in a dreamlike daze. Both their faces were pretty much gone since the range of the shots had been so short, teeth and brains splattered around the loft. I found I couldn’t let myself focus on that. I couldn’t let myself focus on _anything_ that had just happened. I didn’t find myself feeling sick, but I _did_ feel, in that moment, that if I had kept looking, I wouldn’t have ever been able to look away.

I grabbed the boy’s ankles and dragged him towards the ladder, not letting my eyes take notice of anything except his legs. Once my father got a grip on him and pulled him down the ladder, I did the same with the girl, going through the motions. To make matters worse, I then had to avoid thinking too much about the spots of blood on the rungs of the ladder as I made my way down to help my father take care of this.

\--

After running back to the house to put on proper clothing, we worked through the night dismembering the lovers right there in the barn. I’d only ever seen my father dismember deer in here and that night, everything he tried to show or teach me about to properly do _that_ with a _human_ had been completely lost on me. I couldn’t hear him. My ears felt as if they had a film over them and not just because of the close gunfire. I could feel my other senses shutting down the further into the process we got as a survival mechanism. I just had to get through this.

It was already late morning by the time we finished up the final step of separating and packing the meat for freezer storage. The only thing left we had to do was dispose of the garbage bags full of the inedibles. Since we didn’t have any close by neighbors that could see our property or path to the bayou out here, we could confidently dispose of things during the day. My family used to have these things called “dismemberment days” which was when my parents would start to dismember a body in the early morning and then would end up having to dispose of organs and such during daylight before the heat and humidity could start to decay them. That smell lingers.

Since my father was tired and very obviously pissed off at me since I had been barely functioning throughout this tedious process, he offered to go down to the bayou alone. That left me with just taking the meat back to the house. I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to fall face first into my bed, but even _more_ than that, I wanted to see my mother first. Mama always made everything better again.

The second my father and I parted ways, I bolted back to the house. Every part of my body felt heavy, but I couldn’t stop myself from running. I only slowed down once I was about to hit the back door before actively pushing it open. I slammed it shut with my back and slid down the door, trying to catch my breath. I shut my eyes tight, panting and on the verge of tears.

_“Mon cher?”_

Before I even opened my eyes to see her, I smiled. “Mama…”

I saw my mother approaching me down the hall from the kitchen, a tender smile plastered on her face. When she got to me, I tried to control my panting as I struggled to lift the bags of meat I dropped off the floor.

“Can you…can y-you take those…to…to the…the basement f-freezer?” I sputtered out between gasps.

My mother simply nodded and I closed my eyes again, hearing her hum while the click of her heels on the linoleum echoed in my ears. I only opened my eyes again when I suddenly felt her hand on my forearm. She helped me stand up and I hugged her tightly before she could ask my anything. The only person I ever liked touching me was my mother, yet she was the one who got me into the habit of disrespecting others’ personal space. She had always been an affectionate woman and a devoted mother to me. It wasn’t until after her death that I realized I _hated_ being touched by _anyone_ else.

She didn’t say a word as she squeezed me tightly, continuing to hum again as she rubbed my back gently. And just like that, all the horror and exhaustion of the night washed off me. I pressed my face against her shoulder for a moment before finally releasing her and smiling widely.

“I watched Papa kill a couple teenagers.”

As alarming as that sentence should sound to anyone, let alone a mother hearing it from her son, Mama just placed her hand on my cheek. “Damned kids. I’m glad you could protect me, _mon cher._ ” She remained smiling as she ushered me into the kitchen to eat something. “Now, I won’t make you take a bath just yet, but at least wash your hands before you eat,” She gently demanded as she poured three cups of coffee, food already set on the table.

I hadn’t even though of that, finally looking down at myself. My breath hitched like a hiccup. I couldn’t believe just how much blood was on my clothes and even my skin. I was covered in it, but what else should I have expected? I had to quickly avert my gaze to avoid feeling that panic again so I quickly and quietly washed off my hands and forearms in the sink. I didn’t look down as I washed, but the thought of what exactly I was washing away began to tear at my brain. The panic crept up on me then just as quickly, stopped in its tracks the moment my mother spoke to me.

“This ain’t gonna be a regular thing, just so you know.”

I dried my arms before sitting down at the table next to my mother, trying to figure out what she had meant. She pushed one of the coffee cups in my direction then it finally clicked. As much as I wanted to go to sleep, I wanted to stay up and talk to her just a little longer. I took a long drink, the warmth and bitterness comforting me.

“How was it?” She asked.

I set my cup down and knew she wasn’t asking about the coffee. My face twitched, but I kept smiling. “Different.”

“Different?” She parroted back to me, stirring her coffee.

Before I could elaborate, my father came thundering through the back door. Although it was loud and annoying, I was very thankful of his timing as I didn’t think I really wanted to relive the night just yet.

“Don’t wake me for nothing!” My father yelled down the hall before I heard him climb the stairs which then left me having to relive the night immediately anyway! I couldn’t stand him sometimes.

I watched my mother roll her eyes before dropping my gaze to the cup in my hands, my mouth still twisted into a smile. “Deer don’t scream or cry before you shoot them,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

“Well, _mon cher_ ,” My mother started before taking a sip from her cup, “sometimes the screams can be half the fun!”

She began to laugh and I laughed along with her, the tension and panic I had been feeling all night vanishing with our laughter. Mama _always_ made everything better and I’d do _anything_ for her.

\--

That may have been the moment that solidified the idea in my mind that killing people could be fun sometimes. Watching people die _was_ fun the more I thought about it. I still believe, to this day, that hearing my mother’s words in that moment in regards to what I had just been witness to the night before was the main factor in what lead me to pursue the life and career that I had. I could never blame her, by any means, as I don’t have any regrets for the life I lead. She simply made things easier for me down the line and I’m thankful for that.

All in all, the one seemingly good thing to come out of this situation was that now I knew how to protect my mother if need be. So, a couple years later, when my father laid a hand on her first the first time in my life, I protected her. However, that’ll have to be another story for another day.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I left an opening for like a part 2 of "Alastor Tells Stories" but the idea I have is super vague right now and I don't know where to start. I've got a problem giving too much backstory and I don't really want to do that for the next one. I've also got another idea brewing for like a possible part 3, but that one might take me even longer to figure out especially since these are both set in the time when Alastor was alive as well.  
> ANYWAY  
> Thank you so much for reading this one!! I appreciate it very much!!


End file.
